Arcane Magic
by odiedragon
Summary: Neria deals with the implications of the knowledge she discovered in the elven ruins, and struggles with how to harness such a power. With a healthy dollop of Alistairian romantic comedy thrown in.


Neria stared into the campfire, as its flames lit the surrounding Brecilian forest and turned them an even more mysterious shade of foreboding. _Or, perhaps this is just me projecting my own inner thoughts into the darkness, worrying about what Lanaya will think once we tell her Zathrian is dead._

As her traveling companions settled down for the night around her, her thoughts wandered to the strange phylactery gem they'd found deep in the elven ruins. Communicating with that trapped soul was definitely one of the stranger things to have happened on this whole mind-boggling adventure. _When you consider that those things include this damned case of butterflies-in-gut whenever a certain strawberry blonde templar looks at you, that sure puts it up there on the oddness scale._ A log in the fire popped loudly, and her mind jerked back to the present. First watch was never her favorite, but then again, neither were second or third watch. But the short straw must have its due, and it was an important responsibility. Much more mundane perhaps, than killing desire demons who have taken possession of little noble boys, or stabbing an ogre in the jugular, but still important.

There was a little stew left from supper, and while it was certainly not the best offering the band had cooked up, her appetite still had not adjusted to the demands of the taint. She looked around, very conscious of her eating habits since Alistair had mentioned them to her at the beginning of their journey. Everyone seemed to be bedded down, but she kept her wits about her as she gingerly picked up the pot and began eating right out of it. When it was gone, she scraped the sides of the pot with her finger and licked the gravy off it.

"Ah-hah! I'd been wondering why our cookpots were so clean when ready to be washed down. Silly me, I'd figured it was the dog."

Neria's heart leapt as she spun her head around to face the voice. He chuckled. "Caught you red handed, I did. No more telling me how the dainty little mage girl simply cannot be eating that much, hmm?" _Why can't he just grin at me like a normal person? Why does it always have to be laced with… something else?_

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" she asked. She could feel the tips of her pointed ears burning pink.

"I thought about it, but then I… decided my sword needed some attention. It's been awhile since I sharpened and polished it."

"You should be glad Oghren didn't hear you say that. Me, the only smart comment I can come up with is that you've certainly polished more swords in your life than lampposts."

He smirked, amused. "I'm never going to live that one down, am I?"

"Not if I have any say in the matter." She smiled. "If you're up, I wouldn't mind the company…" She moved over, making room on the log she'd been resting on. "Actually… oh, never mind. You have enough to worry about without my pestering you."

"No, no. What's on your mind? As endearing as your thinky-face looks, I can't help but worry whenever I see you wear it." Alistair sat down on the log, and tentatively placed his hand on Neria's knee.

"I… " she said, her words flustered. _Just ignore it, he's just showing concern, that's all. Nothing wrong with that, right? Right?_ "It's hard to explain. You remember that gem we found, in the ruins? The one I destroyed?" Alistair nodded. "You probably just thought I was examining its facets for some bizarre reason. I wasn't. I was... listening. To a mage, who had been trapped in the gem a very, very long time ago."

"If I hadn't seen you go into the fade to save Conner, I would have been a lot more worried. It was a lot like that, watching you there. I could tell you were doing… something, so I made the others leave you be."

"He was a powerful man. He could control his magic and fight as a warrior, all at the same time. Such things are… unheard of, at least in my experience. I may ask Wynne about it, but I'm afraid what she will say."

Alistair frowned. "The Chantry sure wouldn't like that very much. It's bad enough when a mage goes rogue or becomes an abomination… and then to give them a sword on top of it? It'd take an entire monastery of Templars to bring one down, I'd think."

"His soul had been trapped down there for a very, very long time. But I must say… I destroyed the gem not just out of mercy, but out of fear. Fear that someone else would find these powers and use them…" Neria furtively glanced around, to the ever-persistent second campfire that always found its way into their camp. "…use them for their own purposes. I'm not a fan of the Chantry or the Templars, present company excluded of course…"

"I see no true Templars here, my dear."

She glared at him. "Is Morrigan not a mage, simply because she never went through a Harrowing at the Circle? You lack the title, but not the talent. But you're changing the subject. I didn't want such knowledge falling into the wrong hands."

"Probably wise. The Chantry tends to blur the lines between "ancient magic" and "forbidden magic" frequently, when it suits them. Even if it's not expressly forbidden, if they fear it they will label it so. Or proclaim it blood magic."

"I realize this. But… Alistair, I want your honest opinion. Do you think I should learn to use such a power to fight against the Blight? To further the cause of the Grey Wardens?"

He narrowed his eyes, and thought for several moments. "If it's not blood magic, and you've said nothing to make me suspect otherwise, then perhaps it would be a help. Especially if you were the one wielding the sword, as it were. But, you said you destroyed the gem. The power is lost to us now, yes?"

"Well…" Neria studied him. _You still think like a Templar, my shining shield, despite your protests to the contrary._ "Lets just say that the soul in the gem put more into my head than thoughts."

"So… you could make use of these techniques, if you so desired?" He frowned. "That would not be an easy thing to hide, a Grey Warden mucking about the countryside brandishing a sword and zapping her enemies to ash and cinders?"

"I wouldn't want to hide it. It's not blood magic, just lost magic. If I can learn about it, study it, practice it, I may be able to teach others who prove to be strong and wise enough."

"That's still risky," Alistair retorted. "It's not hard for a young mage to find a dagger and start "dabbling" in this arcane magic the way your blood mage friend did when he dabbled in the dark arts. You'll have a hard time convincing the Circle of the value of this knowledge. They'll know it will bring the Templars down on them like an avalanche down a mountainside."

"I still think I should learn more about it. Perhaps it will help the mages be able to improve their lot in life. What if they could police themselves, without the need for the Chantry's interference?" Neria's mind filled with the image of the ancient mage, sword gleaming in one hand and magic blazing in the other. No Templar could stand against a force such as that, not even if they were an army of Gregoirs.

"What?" He jumped up from the log and glared at her. "What you speak of would be akin to civil war. A magical civil war. No good can come from that." Alistair frowned. "You'd risk bringing an Exalted March down upon Ferelden! And if not the Chantry, you'd draw the attention of Sten's people for sure."

Neria glared right back, steeling her gaze. "But what if it was just me? Using the power against the Blight? Against the Archdemon? What then?"

"Well…" Alistair's face softened. "I'd trust _you_ with such a power, of course. But I know you and l…" He caught his tongue before he finished his sentence. "I, uh, I know you wouldn't use such a power for evil purposes." He let out a puff of air, and recollected his thoughts. "It's the Morrigans of the world I worry about."

"Then I think I should learn more about these arcane warrior magics, before passing judgment on them. I don't suppose… no, I can't ask that." She stared down at the ground, examining the intricacies of the bark on a small twig.

"What? What do you wish of me?" He sat back down on the log, and tried to catch her gaze.

"The magic part of the art, I understand. But I am no warrior." Neria looked up at him. "I would need someone to help me with that part. But it would be wrong to ask of you. I can ask someone else, Zevran perhaps."

Alistair paled. "Zevran?? He's no warrior. He's a backstabbing assassin, and I really wish you'd get that through your pretty head one of these days. His style is completely different from that of a warrior anyhow, no matter what kind of person he is." He dropped his head into his hand, and shook his head. "No, if you're going to go forward with this, I should be the one to help you. I understand the dangers more than anyone else here, save yourself. And I can teach you to be a _proper_ warrior, not a back alley brawler."

Neria was touched. "You'd do that, for me? Help me train?"

He grinned at her. "Of course I would. Just like Sten and that kitten. I bet Wynne has some string I could borrow..."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "And here I was, feeling honored that you'd agree to this insanity."

"Insanity is what Grey Wardens do best. Of course I will train you, so long as you promise not to singe my hair as you fling magic from the tip of your sword. I don't think I could bare shaving it off so as to let it grow back properly!"

The mage laughed. "You have a very broad definition of "mild' when it comes to your hair obsession. You realize this, yes?"

"I believe I do at that. Say, if you're going to be a warrior woman now, you're going to need some proper armor. Though I must say, I'll be sad to see you out of those robes…"

"You will? And here I thought that was why you agreed to this madness in the first place."

"Perhaps," he said, smirking. "I've just become so enamored with the view those robes provide as you lead us through the countryside. Looking at armor will be different is all. Not nearly as colorful and flowing."

"If your sense of aesthetics says we should stop…" Neria grinned. "Who am I to argue with your good taste?"

Alistair beamed, and then cleared his throat. "Um, getting back to the subject of armor, you'll want something light to start out with. I doubt that heavy plate is in your future, but it makes sense to start light and see what you can reasonably build yourself up to."

"Oh? I think I have a better idea." Her face glowed like a beacon. "I'll be right back."

She slipped into her tent, and began rummaging through her belongings. Bodahn was kind enough to cart some of their heavier items for them in his wagon, and each of them had a small crate for personal items. Extra weapons, spare boots, keepsakes and the like. Neria rooted around in hers, and found what she was looking for near the bottom. She struggled with the straps, but managed to at least get everything into place, if not tightened properly. It didn't fit quite right, being that it was made for a man originally, but she supposed a blacksmith with her measurements could do it some good. _Just so long as he doesn't wash his scent out of the leathery bits. Might as well just scrap the thing and make a new set from scratch, be that the case…_

She opened her tent flap and headed back to the campfire. Alistair stared. "Can you help me with the straps? Some of them I just can't get right by myself."

"Is that… why in the world do you still have that?" he said incredulously. "You ruthlessly sell every scrap of armor you can get your hands on as soon as it's of no more use to us, and yet you hang onto and old worn-out set of splintmail? Why?"

"It reminds me of… Ostigar. And what happened there." _Now, there's an understatement for the ages, Neria._ "Not… not _all _of it was bad, you know."

"Just most of it." She was afraid he would become moody again, thinking of Duncan. But he grinned wickedly instead. "I must say, however, that you look smashing in it."

"It must be the armor then. It has that effect on people." She grinned back, she hoped half as wickedly. "Now, about those straps…"

"Of course." He chuckled as he pulled at the strap over her left shoulder, leaning in close to her ear as he did so. "It seems I'm not the only one who's stricken with a chronic case of sentimentality. Good to know." He turned his attention back to the armor, and when finished he handed her a spare blade he'd found.

"Right then. First lesson: Stick them with the pointed end." He lightly poked the center of her chest with his sword, to accentuate his statement.

"Funny," Neria said with a cockeyed smirk. "One could say I should be saying the same to you." Neria took the look of shock on the ex-Templar's face as an opening, and swung her sword.


End file.
